


Fight and Flight

by Susamo



Series: The Adventures of the young Gos athor Atlan da Gonozal [3]
Category: Perry Rhodan - Various Authors
Genre: Alternate Reality, F/M, Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:26:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24360556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Susamo/pseuds/Susamo
Summary: Young Atlan da Gonozal is a prisoner of an unknown organization that has had the crew of his ship murdered and him abducted. The destination of the ship he is held upon is unknown, as well as his future.But the young Crystal Prince is not going to take that or let be done with him meekly as others might decide!
Series: The Adventures of the young Gos athor Atlan da Gonozal [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1753825
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	Fight and Flight

**Author's Note:**

> Note on Arkonath measurement of time:
> 
> A year, called Tai Votan, consists of ten months, called Votani or periods. They are called Eyilon, Hara, Tarman, Dryhan, Messon, Tedar, Ansoor, Prikur, Coroma, and Tartor. A period consists of 36 days, or three berlons with twelve days each.
> 
> The last five days of the year are a holiday and are called the Katanoi of the Capit, a time when the past year is reflected on, the dead of the year are honoured and at the same time life and fertility are celebrated, and the people look forward to the coming year.
> 
> The Arkonath year has 365,22 days. An Arkonath year is as long as 1,182 years upon Earth.
> 
> A day is called a prago and has twenty tontas (hours). An Arkonath tonta lasts as long as 1,4185 human hours; a prago, therefore, lasts for 28,37 human hours.  
> The equivalent of a minute is a khela, and of a second it is a sarton. A "moment" is called a mithron.
> 
> Garrabo is a game one can compare to chess. (Though it is, of course, very much different from chess!)

Fight and Flight

Atlan shivered with cold. He had slept very uneasily, and when the ship had taken a very long jump he had woken with the pain of the headache that had engendered-and after that he had not been able to fall asleep again, much as he would have wanted that to escape the images that danced even before his closed eyes.  
But even in his sleep he had seen the nightmare scenes from the TONDON as he saw them now, repeated endlessly by his fevered brain and mind. Again and again Denios da Pert dangled like a jerking theatre puppet from the gear-strengthened hands of his murderer, his face purpling, his wide-open mouth soundlessly gaping, crying for air.  
Again and again Khesal, the attendant he knew from several flights with the TONDON, was falling at his feet, his throat and stomach opening in wide gulfs and slashes which poured forth blood, so much blood that coloured his face and hair and his neat uniform. Death was rightly symbolized by red, the red of blood running from fatal wounds.

Shivering again the boy tried to tuck himself in the tighter, but he could not hold on closer to himself. Dry sobs wracked his body now and again. He had cried a lot once more when he had woken and realized that what he remembered was no nightmare but truth-cold, stark, deadly truth. Now no more tears would come, and his eyes stared before him dry and burning. Relentlessly the scene of Lesena’s death repeated itself before his gaze.  
She cried out, holding her hand protectively over her belly-a hand that was smashed to tiniest pieces a moment later as the world went numb and silent in the wake of the sonic grenade’s crash, the sound returning moments later with the echoes of his own cry.

“No”, Atlan whispered, echoing himself, staring ahead. The wall behind her turned red with her blood spattering it, and with the blood of the little sister he now would never have. The tiny body was ripped to pieces as was the body of her mother.

“Lesena”, the young Gos athor whimpered softly. “Getray.” Sweetie girlie would not play with him ever, now, and whether he would ever come home and play again he did not know either. He knew nothing, nothing-all and everything he had known and been sure of, thought he knew to be real lay as shattered at the bottom of his mind as lay his nurse’s body, her legs a kind of runny pulp interwoven with shreds of her light green dress-light green as the colour of hope which was drenched in blood and turned red as death.

It was cold, so cold, cold as death. The boy shivered again, holding on to himself and curling into a ball as hard as he could. His fingers clutched his arms and dug hard into the fabric of his jacket-a jacket no longer light red but having acquired darker spots, in places no light red left anymore. The same went for his trousers. His clothes were all drenched with the blood of his nurse, his bodyguard, his guardsmen and –women.   
His fingers clutched harder. He was painfully aware that this was all he had left of them now-their blood, having drenched his sleeves. Only in this they were with him still. Only through this he still had something in his hands which belonged to the world he had known-when Lesena, and Kelta, and Alos and Tunutér had been with him, when Denios da Pert had taught him manners-

Gods. Gods-he had not shown his teacher the Tai Kha’Laktrote the honour he had been due. He never should have hatched that prank and crept into maintenance to change the settings. Denios had been so lenient to only have him do some more work on mathematics-now the Grand Master would never call for his attention again with that slight frown and misgiving look. He had resented that, fool he who had not known which riches he had in the people around him, a fool who had taken for granted what was so fragile and could be taken away so easily, smashed apart in rivers of blood…

Dryly sobbing Atlan shivered once more. His parents and uncle Cunor were far away, he did not know how far, he did not know where he was going, he did not know who the people were who had done this, who had that matter-of-factly smashed his world and all he knew to pieces and had picked him up out of the shards, flying away with him in a ship he did not know, with men he had never seen before, who had agendas he had no idea of-

Who could help him now? Only the Gods came to him, Zhymelesa who brought Light to those who walked in Dark Places-and he was walking in darkness indeed now. But he would not loosen his hands from his arms to put his face into them for praying. Instead he stammered a short prayer to the goddess with closed eyes. Would she hear him?   
Would anyone hear him, hear of him when he arrived where he was dragged to? Gods, Father, mother-uncle Cunor, uncle Upoc, aunt Merikana, grandmother Seliya-they were as real to him as they ever had been, and he was yearning for them so hard his heart hurt which he had thought numb with pain and horror. But between them and him an un-crossable gulf of unknown stars had opened, a gulf whose waters ran red. He was no longer of this world of security and carefree living of his childhood, of merriment and unquestioned love, he knew by instinct, though he knew not why and how he was so sure of that. He lay in darkness indeed, all alone, in a lightless void-

The door opened, hissed aside. A man came in, bearing a tray which he put down upon the table and then turned, looking over at the boy who had closed his eyes, shutting out the presence of the man, of the murderer, of the monster with bloody hands-

Footsteps came nearer, stopped in front of the cot. The man was looking down at the boy who did not react to him, and only opened his eyes when he was touched hard on the shoulder. 

“You. Get up, wash, eat”, the man growled, shaking the young Gos athor. Atlan still ignored him, staring ahead.

At least, he saw, the man’s hands were clean-of course, there was no saying whose faces had been under the plates of the helmets of those fighting suits. Whomever this man might have murdered, he had not done it with his bare hands which showed no trace of the blood the man might have spilled.

With a hard grip at the jacket’s throat and a mighty jerk the man pulled the boy upright into a sitting position and growled at him: ”Up! Wash, eat!”

Perforce Atlan stared at him now and found no recognition of himself and his rank or his position in the Tai Ark’Tussan in the man’s hard stare. If at all, the soldier was resentful-but indifferent, indifferent at least towards the young prisoner whom he shook again and pushed to have him get up.

The young Gos athor gave him a look that should have fried and frozen the man on the spot, at the same time, and still did not deign to react. In truth he felt immobilized still by shock and horror and fear. What would they do to him? Where were they going?

The man growled and reached out, grabbed the boy by the long smudged hair, and yanked back his head. In shock Atlan stared back at the man-no-one had ever touched him like this, not even in Dagor or combat training.  
The soldier simply raised his other hand and delivered hard slaps to the boy’s cheeks, left-right, and left again so swiftly the young prince did not even realize momentarily what was happening to him, his head flying back and banging hard into the wall. The double hit made tears rush to his eyes again.

At the same time a sudden black rage boiled up within him, burning away all paralysis and fear within a sarton.  
He was the Crystal Prince of Arkon! No-one could treat him like that, slapping his face!

With a wordless cry of rage the boy jumped up and threw himself at the man, his knee hitting him hard, but missing the middle of the soldier’s body, smashing into the man’s thigh instead. His left fist connected with the soldier’s cheekbone, but the right wrist the man grabbed with surprising speed, turning the young prince’s arm painfully and making him stagger.  
With full force the man’s fist drove into Atlan’s stomach and made him fold soundlessly, his breath but huffing in burning pain as he fell, gasping for air.

Cringing on the floor and curled up on his side again the youth was helplessly at his enemy’s mercy, who gave him a hard kick in the side with his boot for good measure and growled again: “Wash!Eat!” and left, the door hissing shut behind him, the sensor lock clicking softly.

Hissing through his teeth with pain and softly whimpering Atlan lay on the floor for several khelas before he could uncoil and move again without crying out with pain and slowly could get up. Hunched all over he staggered to the table and stared down at the tray, which held nothing but three closed plastic containers-but one of them was unmistakeably a water-box and sloshed promisingly when the boy took it up with a shaking hand and opened it.

Suddenly he was immeasurably thirsty. Hastily he put the box’s opening to his lips and drank, drank down the water in that box, and drank on till he could drink no more. Luckily the box was big enough, half an adult’s water ration for a day as fleet provisions went.

The other containers held syntho mash and those overly sweet wafers one got at every spaceport, which tasted far too sugary but which were very nourishing. Not a repast to delight the Gos athor da Arkon, but good enough to feed a lonely captive boy who was perhaps a day or more from his last meal.   
Despite the lump in his throat and the tears beginning to run down his purpling cheeks again Atlan sat at the table and took up the spoon, and forced one tasteless bite after the other of that pap down his constricting throat. 

No matter that he had to think of Lesena ceaselessly, which cost him every spark of appetite, he had to stay strong and able to use every opportunity to make trouble for his captors or even to escape. He still had the crystal and the master key in his pocket- the abductors had not searched him, thank all the she huan, the Gods of the Stars. As yet he had no idea what to do with these prizes he had taken off the intruder he had managed to down. Neither did he know how to make use of them-simply walking out of the prison cell was out since outside stood living guards, as he had heard by the exchange now when that man had left-but he would find out, and soon. 

The rage he had felt was not quenched but fanned with the brutal hits the man had dealt him, but it was contained better now and left his head clear to think, a thing he needed dearly to find a way to help himself. And it had burned sadness and grief and resignation away and given him purposeful resolve instead-at least for now.  
And that resolve told him that he had to do as the man had said, wash and get the dried blood out of his hair and off his skin where it had begun to itch and be irritating with its sticking-he had just not been aware of this before.

So, when he had eaten, the young Gos athor da Arkon went to the hygiene cell and had a look into the screen which served as a mirror.  
Gods, he was a mess, and a bloody mess, literally. Blood was sticking to him everywhere, blood and the remnants of his vomit and dust and some dark substances from the maintenance ducts. Besides that he was stinking to the stars with sweat, so strong he could even smell it himself. Gods. Lesena would have resented his appearance like a fiend from very Ereinnye-oh, Zelathrol, God of Mercy and Hope, please have mercy indeed, Lesena-

Sobbing softly but with grim resolve Atlan stripped and stepped into the sonic shower, scrubbing himself vigorously with the pad and seeing to it he got off every stain. Getting his hair clean was a blessing indeed; the comb provided was the simplest fleet issue but doing its task.  
For clothing the Crystal Prince had nothing to put on but what he had worn before, the trousers and shirt and jacket drenched and stained with his people’s blood. But for exactly that reason he would not have parted from his jacket or trousers, at least not now, not yet. In that way Kelta and Lesena were with him still…

Seemingly quietly the boy sat down upon the cot, apparently resigned to his fate and looking like he was attempting to meditate. He was sure that he was watched constantly and wanted to present the desired demure and submissive posture. Perhaps that would bring some result and lure someone to him whom he perhaps could take by surprise.  
But would he have the strength and nerve to earnestly fight these murderers, and, to the point, successfully?

Atlan looked down at his empty hands, lying in his lap. He knew how to fight, had been taught how-with weapons as well as using Dagor techniques. He had been in shock before and had only thought of running and getting help, trusting others to take care of him and protect him and fight for him-as it had been all his life as the Gos athor da Arkon. He was a minor, a child yet, not even twelve, and had not yet given his oath-he had a right to expect care and protection, hadn’t he?   
And he had gotten the best the Tai Ark’Tussan and his parents knew and had to offer. But it had not been enough, and the right he had thought he had was not respected by all, as one saw-as any Maahk would laugh at him, voicing these demands and claims, if a Maahk could and would laugh. He was all alone, his nurse and his bodyguard and his guardsmen and –women killed before his eyes, he was perfectly at the mercy of their murderers-and there was no-one left who could help him, free him, bring him home. He would have to see to that himself and manage it himself, and, more-it was his damned duty to do so and get home on his own. As the Gos athor da Arkon he did not only have rights but duties-that he had not given his oath yet made no difference. His position and rank were the reason why he had been abducted and why all the people upon the Tondon had had to die, and the fact that he was not yet twelve for sure had not deterred the assassins!

Taking a deep breath the young prince closed his eyes and truly went into the posture and mind-set necessary for proper Dagor meditation.  
This welling up of rage, which still burned hotly within his heart, had woken him from the stupor of shock and given back resolve and the will to act to him, and the ability to think straight. Right now he had tried to fight back, but he had acted spontaneously and with too little thought. As a result he had missed with his knee and had miscalculated his own strength and position measured against that man’s, and had gotten his nose snubbed painfully.

Well, right. The universe taught its lessons clearly, didn’t it? He would have to do better next time-and not just better, but he had to bloody succeed. He would get no second chance, of that he was sure. It was just as Laktrote Kehene had said it was with the Maahks-if you act, you do it right the first time, or you do not do it at all. The Maahks are fast learners and do not offer second chances.

Atlan took another deep breath and went into the breathing cadence necessary for a Dagor Cai meditation. Right now he had calmed down and felt collected enough to do this, to meditate, which would help him further to rally his thoughts and his resolve-but what was he to do with it? He had to escape, as much was clear, and it made for the Goal of his efforts. But how to get there, and what was his own means he could employ?

Who Are They, Where Are They, What Have They Got?

None of the Essential Questions before one homed in on the target of a mission he could answer. He only knew that his enemies were absolutely ruthless and ready to go against the Imperator and the Tai Ark`Tussan itself-not just ready, but having taken the Imperator and his family, and the Empire, for their very targets. Gods, why? How?

The young prince felt his hands tremble. With an effort he calmed himself again, took a deep breath, took another.  
He realized that he was up against an unknown force of unknown purposes, but which was targeting him and his family, and the whole Tai Ark’Tussan-now, at this most dangerous phase of the Methane War. It was his duty to do his utmost to fight them, thwart their plans, and stop them. But how could he, a lonely boy, hurt and locked in here? He was not helpless, no, with all the knowledge and skill he already had acquired. But he needed the wit and strength and clear head to employ them which he had had in training-and right now, be it damned to the Gods, he knew himself to be deeply afraid and desperate and hurt deeply in his mind and heart, and Gods-be confused about everything. 

Watching himself he realized how hard it was for him to think straight, to get his wits and his concentration together. A part of him still was screaming inside with horror, another part was helplessly and desperately weeping, Gods-  
Everything was in shreds and shards. The situation he was in was totally alien to him, and the world he suddenly knew himself to be in was too. All that bright careless joy and security-it had proven to be fragile and had proven it could be destroyed and taken away, just like that, and he had not been able to prevent it, had not been able to stop the murderers from killing Kelta or Lesena! Naturally, that, he was too young, he was a minor, and had had no weapons. 

But his Silvers, adults and perfectly trained and equipped to their teeth lay as dead as did the crewmen of the TONDON. The Services, the Tu-gol-cel, and the Tu-ra-cel, even the Golamo, had not been able to prevent this-Mekron kel’ Dermitron had not, the so powerful and all-knowing head-in –chief of all the Services! Protection and Security of the Services had failed, and only he was left alive who knew about this new danger to all of Arkon and all its peoples.

Merciful Gods! What was he to do? Everything felt so unreal, everything here and now was totally alien-never in his life had he been unattended or without a bodyguard. Never in his life had he been alone or left on his own, having to use his own resources-but, of course, when he had used them for slips-around in the Gos Khasurn or for the purpose of pranks, or for slipping into Golamo net or other sources undetected, knowing full well that what he did was something he was not permitted to do under any circumstances.

He had thought that such things were a true adventure! He had thought that all he knew was all there was, all that was real-fool he, fool he!

Moaning softly Atlan hid his face in his hands. Had his childhood world of security and careless joy ever been real at all? These men here had existed out of it all the time, and he had not known it. Death, true death and destruction were as real-he had not known personally how it felt to lose a person close to one, how it was to have to helplessly watch people die, how it was to have everything you knew and loved destroyed before your eyes and you left alone and lost, all your life in shatters before your feet. He had been a child, he had been unknowing and blind.

He was no longer. He knew that with sudden cold certainty, -and he knew his duty also. He had to stop these terrorists and traitors, and it had to be him who did that and at least told on them, because there most likely was no-one else but him who knew at least a little about them. There was no-one else who would come forth to save the situation! All the adults who could have done anything were dead. They were all dead.

A soft sob escaped the boy’s throat, and a few tears ran down his cheeks which he wiped away angrily. He had to stop mourning and jabbering now at long last and had to collect himself and get a clear head and lay his plans. And then he had to act, firmly and to the purpose and without distraction. That he felt totally confused and was halfway hysterical with horror and fear and felt inadequate and murderously insecure was true-watching himself he saw how he trembled and knew why-and yet, he could not be considerate of his feelings. He could not afford to be tolerant of his weaknesses and fears and shortcomings-he had to act and to succeed. 

Grimly pressing his lips together the young Gos athor sat up straight and then took a deep breath, going back into a meditative posture. That he was confused and full of fear and pain of body and heart and soul was true, but he had to amend that. It was in his way of succeeding, he knew that well. He could not afford to succumb to his feelings in the course of the duty he had to perform now-not only for his own sake but for uncle Cunor-his Eminence the Tai Moas da Arkon Gonozal homenn-and his parents and his family who were so threatened, and the whole Tai Ark’Tussan. No matter that he had not officially given his oath yet, he was the Gos athor da Arkon and had his First Word given at eight, upon the world of Hocatarr. He knew his duty.

Atlan closed his eyes and went into Dagor Cai Mode of the first level, then the second. His breaths and his heartbeat slowed. Good. Already he felt calmer and more collected.  
Laktrote Kenos and Kehene had shown him a new kind of exercise lately-it was called Dagor Cai Goth, the mental shields of Dagor Cai that enabled a person to deal with pain and fear and the like in extreme situations of need, putting them aside like a garment that was in the way, enabling one to work or fight or simply wait calmly till help arrived, for example, if one was lost in deep space having only the suit, and the oxygen tank running low.

Like that he had to dispense with fear and pain and mourning now to be able to function and act, and get his escape underway. He had to shield himself against these emotions and put them aside to deal with them later, when he could afford to, say, have another weeping fit and feel alone and afraid and desperate. As he had done now, and could no longer permit himself to do.

First one had to find a symbol that represented one’s personality-that was easy. As long as Atlan could think of he had been taught Dagor and as soon as possible the meditation of Dagor, and the symbol offered to him always had been the Crystal-what else to use as a focal point for the Gos athor da Arkon than the Crystal, twelve-sided, pristine and serene, which was his very emblem and the symbol of his rank and office?

Going to its centre and imagining it around him, the Crystal in tranquillity swinging in harmony with the universe, calmed the young prince further and let him feel real peace the first time since the TONDON had mis-jumped. This was where he was at home in his mind, where he was safe and secure, a place where he belonged which no-one could take away from him, a place he carried with him in his heart. For the necessary twelve breaths, he took in this feeling of peace and safety and then went on with his meditative work. The one-hundred and eight breaths he normally would have taken he did not have the time for, he felt.

The trick now was to enlarge the crystal’s influence, creating a whole shield of its power which repelled any distracting feeling, suppressing it and locking it away till one could afford to face it. For that, too, had to be done in time; as one sometimes could not afford the distraction of emotions, so one could not afford to lock them away for too often or too long, for pressure would then mount within the place of one’s heart and soul where one’s feelings were confined to, and if the protecting shield then broke one was flooded with all one’s emotions and would succumb to them, would be incapacitated by them.

Right. Atlan took a deep breath and kept to Dagor Cai level two, breathing slowly and in the proper cadence, imagining being within the Crystal still, savouring the calm serenity of it and its power.  
Now he enlarged it around him till he had the feeling of standing within a huge hall of glittering white light, and in his imagination he stretched out his hands to the sides, with his fingertips touching a circle of blinding white light running around him, a light coming from the Crystal surrounding him and being of its essence.

Twelve crystals now to form the shield, Dagor Cai Goth. Small replicas of the large crystal formed in the young Gos athor’s mind, two at his fingertips, being touched by him, two in front of him and two behind, four distributed evenly between the two in front and behind and the two to the left and the right to form the Ten of Time, the Ten periods of the year, the ten Votani of a Tai Votan. These ten crystals embodied the Present, the Now. Added to that were two more above and below which went beyond time, Past and Future, forming the eternal Now that was outside of time and place, forming the Twelve who were Perfect, the number of the Gods and the Creator Himself.

Done. Contemplating the twelve glittering crystals and consciously taking their presence in and implementing them in his awareness Atlan slowly let the Crystal shrink till he felt it at the centre of his heart once more, or rather, in the centre of his Mirkan alore ne melana, the place and centre of healing and love. Around him the Goth shield of his mind was glittering like a shimmering sphere, giving him clarity of mind and serenity of heart he had not known since he had done this meditation the last time under the guidance of Sek-athor Kehene upon Gos Ranton, the Crystal World.

Now to the containment of emotion-in his case, that was fear, cramping his gut and strangling his breath, and the pain in his heart, desperation, and mourning for his beloved ones, Lesena and Kelta. For that he needed spheres of crystal to take in those emotions and to hold them there, shutting them in for the time he needed to be able to act unhampered by grief and horror and despondency.  
Calmly imagining such a sphere, clear and shining, originating from the crystal in his alor’ mirkh’, he let it sink to the bottom of his stomach where fear lurked even now, and let the feeling flow into the crystal sphere to be held in there. The relief from fear was wonderfully relaxing and heartening.

Gods, this was working as well as it had when he had done this meditation with Kenos and Kehene, no, even better! Atlan allowed himself a small tight smile before he went on.  
He could deal with this, he could not be daunted!

Another sphere, then, to go to his heart, filled with the light rose colour of love, and another one, coloured light blue, to rise to his throat and keep it free and open to breathe deeply, which otherwise threatened to constrict with pain or fear or desperate sobs too often. Done. Twelve deep breaths now to implement this arrangement in his consciousness and to be aware of it every moment. Yes.   
The resulting calmness and the feeling of being strong and armoured well were almost exhilarating for a moment.  
All the Gods be thanked, and Thiath above them most of all!

To put a fitting end to his meditation the boy let himself drift upward to Dagor level one, opened his eyes and knelt on his right knee to pray to Merakon, the God of Youth and Strength, whom he as the Gos athor da Arkon had as his personal patron God also. Opening his arms wide in the prayer posture appropriate for the Crystal prince of the Realm he sincerely asked the god for his guidance and protection and begged him to show him the way he should go and to give him the strength and courage he needed to fulfill his duty. With the goth shield he maintained constantly there was no place in his heart for anything but feeling encouragement and firm constancy, feelings which he gratefully took as Merakon’s answer, and which he thanked him correctly for before he rose again and bowed in greeting to his tutelary deity.

He would keep this mental shield up, keep conscious of it no matter what would come at him the whole day long, the day he would find a way to escape and use any opportunity which might come his way, for-  
“Opportunities will present themselves. Recognize them and act upon them”, Laktrote Kehene always said when he had to plan a Mission in training.   
For the first time since the Tondon had been taken the young Crystal prince felt confident again and settled down to wait some more.   
Something would have to happen, sooner or later!

The wait proved to become a long one. After a tonta had gone by Atlan had to admit to himself that his hope would not be fulfilled within the immediate future. They were ignoring him, letting him sit there-

Gods, it was unbelievable. For a moment the quiet rage the young Gos athor was still seething with deep down in his heart threatened to flare up. Clenching his teeth and fists hard he got himself under control again before he would give an outward sign of his anger. After this abduction, after all these murders, after they had shattered his whole life they left him here ignored, caring not at all about him, treating him like an object, a robot-Gods, it was inconceivable. Being treated most awfully was better than being treated like this!   
The Maahks might act like that, who cared nothing at all for their prisoners. But these traitors and murderers here dealt with him no better! They had taken and secured their bargaining chip, their Garrabo counter, and had stuck him away to the ledge, thinking it safe to forget about him the while they did not need him to play with. Gods he would show them they were mistaken to think him a helpless and harmless child, a Tashmayim puppet to be left at the sides of the stage while in the centre the play went on, a puppet switched off till it would re-enter the play in a later act and only then would be reanimated!

That he had to act himself to get free was clear now; no-one was going to offer him an opportunity out of turn.  
That he was watched constantly nevertheless was another given to the Crystal prince; it was logical. If he, for example, got too agitated and hurt himself, or some such matter, the assassin’s Counter chip might get damaged!  
Even if he had no worth for them himself as a person, as the Gos athor da Arkon he was very valuable, and the reason why they had dared to attack the TONDON at all.  
So if he wanted to act he had to do it swiftly and give no preliminary sign; go to the door, get out the impulse key, open the door and-

Yes, what? What was out there? He could be sure that there was some kind of guarding, Atlan thought, biting his lip. When that man with the tray had come in he had seen another soldier standing behind him; usually, one or two, men or robots, stood guard in front of a door if an intrusion was feared or special security was needed. It would be foolish to assume they were less careful with him after they had gone to such lengths to catch him. So, guards were to be expected; one left, one upon the right side. So he would have to be swift in kicking them and taking them out with Dagor grips. 

That moment an alarm would be given somewhere by the watchers; doors would lock and men would run to get him again. Right. Assuming the key he had was a master key, which it seemed to be by the many contacts it had built-in and that it had been designed for the locks of this ship, locked doors would be no obstacle as such. But this ship was strange to him; though upon approach it had looked like any heavily armed commercial liner, clearly of Arkonath build, it could have varying internal structures.

He could not risk running through an unknown ship full of men trying to catch him, the young Gos athor knew. Speed was of the essence, speed, and the shortest way possible.   
On being brought here he had not seen any emergency tunnel accesses as they were obligatory upon ships of the fleet or as he knew it from the TONDON. But they must be there. He had not looked closely or consciously when he was led to this cell; he had been in shock. On a commercial liner, emergency exits were discreetly covered but would, in case of danger, stick out the clearer-by light signals. Gods, Yes-there had been light panels at regular intervals down the corridors which had not shone. Beneath such a panel emergency accesses had to be found-two a corridor, near to main entrances, near to antigrav thomkay shafts if this ship was a regular.

Atlan took a deep breath with hope renewed. He was beginning to see his way ahead. 

Get to an emergency shaft, ride it to a hangar, snatch a boat and run. A plan nice and simple, and-all riding upon the small chance that he could get a boat under his control swiftly enough. The hangar locks would stay closed, of course; they had main control, after all, and would not nicely clear him for take-off.

Taking another deep breath the boy snapped his fingers to himself. Yes, he would have to disable the lock control by hand and go to emergency unlock; luckily he knew how to do that, had learned that in the technical courses he had had to attend. That he could unlock the boat’s positronicon he was sure.  
He had a lot of Golamo codes in his head, including High Command Override filched from Fleet High, codes he would not have been handed before he was a grown orbton and athor. But with Kelta’s help, he had looked often enough into Golamo net and-

Kelta, Gods, Kelta. For a moment desperation threatened to well up within his heart and made Atlan’s throat constrict, but only once. Then the goth shield took hold and let the feeling go by, let it slide off the clarity and serenity of the Crystal, to be drawn into the crystal spheres guarding his heart and throat and to be replaced by firm resolve. Kelta would urge him to go on, would tell him to think and plan well and then act without delay, but calmly, and keep fear and anger at bay. Without delay, yes, Gods-he had forgotten the orbton he had downed and taken the crystal and the key from!

In sudden alarm Atlan looked up to the ceiling where he suspected the hidden cameras to be. That man could notice that he had lost his key and the crystal at any moment!

That enemy officer could not still be out cold, could he? They had brought their prisoner to their ship, had evacuated their attacking crew, had brought him here, and then he had slept and eaten, Gods-how much time had passed since the murders upon the TONDON had happened? He had no way to know. There was no timer anywhere, and his wrist-com they had taken, depriving him of all its functions, timer, coder, identity pulser.

But they had not searched him further, thank the Gods.

This ship had jumped immediately after they had taken off, and might have done so again and again while he had slept. Since he was awake there had been no transition, though, but steady flight; he had no idea where they were now, and how much time had gone down the void. Gods, he had to act, but when-?

The klaxon prior to jump suddenly rang, vibrations becoming palpable for a moment as the ship’s machines worked at high pitch to increase its speed. Sublight speed between transitions normally was turned down lower to allow for internal inspection and the gathering of outside data.

Atlan held on to the edges of the cot and concentrated, trying to gauge the jump’s distance by the transition shock he would feel-  
Now. Oww! With a grimace the boy rubbed his temples. The terrorists had gone quite far with that jump, as much was clear. A man still unconscious, or benumbed by a few very effective Dagor grips, might be out cold with that jump-shock for another tonta-he might have a little time to wait still. Better to be patient till that soldier-or another man-came again, bringing another tray. Then he would see how many men stood at his door. Shortly after that soldier had gone he would act; that was a time when it would be least expected, and-

The vibrations felt through the floor became noticeable again, harder and less frequent now, typical for intense decreasing of speed, which only made sense if-Zelathrol have mercy, if they had veered insystem and were nearing a station or a planet, and were planning to land! Gods, in a station teeming with enemies he would have even less chance to flee and find a boat to fly away!

Atlan jumped up. There was not another mithron to lose! Besides, the preparations prior to landing might take the attention of his captors away from him. This was the opportunity he had been waiting for!  
With a few swift strides the boy was at the door, whisking the pulse key out of its hiding place, the inner pocket of his shirt, and pressed it against the lock.  
Startlingly swiftly the door hissed aside, making the two guards, standing left and right to it as predicted, jump and turn to the boy, but they were too slow for him, keyed-up as he was.  
With a murderous left-right of his fists, driven by the rage he still felt seething deep down in his heart, Atlan attacked the left-hand man, hitting him unconscious within the sarton.  
The other man lunged with a shout but missed the youth who had evaded quickly and caught the man’s outstretched arm, using both their momentums to throw him against the wall and hit the man to the neck with the edge of his hand, downing him immediately.  
Breathing deeply Atlan stood for a moment and looked down at his fallen enemies, a sense of exhilaration filling his heart. It was such a good feeling to be able to fight back at long last!

That moment the alarm klaxon began howling, announcing what the young prince had expected to happen: someone had watched additionally and had noticed that he was out of his cell.  
Farther down the corridor locking doors smashed shut while swift footsteps of several men became audible down round the bend. What now? What now? He needed a gun!

Whirling back to look at the fallen guards Atlan spied their weapons, heavy Luccots still held in their holsters. He had appeared too swiftly for the men to draw.  
Grabbing for the one nearer to him the boy ripped the gun out of its holster and threw himself down, firing the moment the first man appeared round the bend. The soldier fell without a cry like an axed Triap, taken by a low-energy shot that had completely shocked him and burned him badly, but did not kill him. Despite the murders these men had committed Atlan did not feel ready to do murder right back. He never had killed yet in his life and had not expected to have to do it before he entered the active life of an orbton of the fleet, though he had learned how to hit the mark with various guns and weapons and had had to practice very hard.

The men were as careful, knowing who they would have to fight. They carried proper shocker guns besides their still holstered Luccots and had them out, but they aimed too high with their barrage. 

Atlan got two more of them with well-placed shots and then rolled free of the bodies of his first victims with all the speed he could muster.  
The fourth man, coming round the bend more cautiously, missed with his shot by inches, while the boy hit the mark a fourth time. The soldier fell with a gasp and a thud.   
Six grey-clad bodies, wearing simple fleet uniforms, lay on the floor unmoving. He had done it!

Breathing hard and getting up in a hurry Atlan listened to the sudden silence and tried to find out if another enemy was within the small corridor space between the sealed doors. But there seemed to be no-one; now, where to run?

The corridor was blank and gave no indication even to within which section of the ship it lay. Coming here the young Crystal prince had not realized where he was brought to. But the vibrations felt had indicated that the engine ring was not far off. Beneath that normally the hangars for the boats were situated; presumably down, then. Well, but now: left or right? When he had been dragged in they had come from the thomkay lift shaft and gotten here shortly, from the left, facing the cell door.   
So the access to the emergency shaft nearer to him had to be down that way too. But it was also the way where relief for the guardsmen and more soldiers would come from; the other way, to the right, it would be farther to the next access, but it also might be less populated.

“Put down that weapon and give up! You have no way to escape! The locks are all sealed!”

The voice blaring from the speakers in the wall boomed ominously. Atlan smiled contemptuously. How did these fools think he had left his cell? Said a magic word and blasted the door with his hands? Did they not realize that he must have a key?

Apparently not. Apparently this seemed to be unthinkable to his enemies as yet. Well, he had to get going and show them his method, or they would open the doors with more men behind them if he hesitated for too long.  
Swiftly the boy turned and ran to the right, pressing the key to the locker sensor at the wall. Immediately the door parted and shot to the sides, showing an empty corridor. No-one seemed to have arrived at this end.   
Atlan jumped through and locked the door again, hoping to stop enemies coming from the other end for another moment. The clanging of a door already could be heard down that end where the men had come from.

Running as fast as he could the boy looked for the flasher panels which would indicate the presence of an emergency escape tunnel. Depending upon the size of the ship, and the number of crew and passengers to be expected, these were more frequent or less so. None yet, and none yet-Gods, had he miscalculated and taken the wrong side of the corridor despite the men coming for him from the shaft? That door behind him stayed closed too, an odd thing with the terrorists having main control. Any operator on the bridge should be able to override a pulse key.

Or this was truly a really masterly key-could that be? 

Looking around another bend, a sealed door farther off, Atlan breathed out with relief. No-one in sight yet, and there was a flasher panel with a fine line down the wall, crossing the corridor-that line would flash in an emergency too, guiding even people half-blinded by wounds or smoke to that exit.

At that moment before he took another breath he heard the low noise. A kind of a very low hissing-

Zelathrol have mercy, they were gassing the corridor! Of course they kept the doors sealed and the men out!  
Holding his breath the young prince dashed round the bend and almost threw himself against the wall, pressing the key to the barely visible sensor to unlock it without emergency conditions in operation.  
Thanks to the pulse key the panels slid aside, revealing the stark metal of the corridor wall beneath, and the round cover of the emergency exit, handle slightly sticking out. In a reckless hurry, still desperately holding his breath, Atlan pulled the handle, turned it, and pushed it back in. The access opened, damn slowly it seemed. The alarm klaxon was howling again, but the door stayed shut-and a hissing noise came again. More gas? No, the stream of air the boy felt on his face proved that they were sucking all the air out of the corridor as swiftly as the systems allowed that. The men waiting beyond the door apparently wore no suits and would have fallen prey to the gas too.

Feeling slightly dizzy by now Atlan hastily clambered into the shaft and hit the button to close it with his fist. The hissing of doors could be heard faintly before the cover sealed hermetically, then the air pressure was turned on and he was propelled down the tunnel with surprising speed to the next emergency lock.  
Smashing hard into the padding the boy gulped in the air with several hasty and deep breaths. A cloying sweet smell seemed to cling to his clothes, nauseating and making his stomach revolt, but the feeling was over swiftly as more air was pumped in by the machines and the hatch opened with another hiss. 

Down here the klaxon howled no less wildly, and the thumping of footsteps told of more men running to meet him.   
They must have been told where he would emerge, but they were some way off still. The sounds boomed louder than they had in the corridor-yes, he had come out very near to a hangar, whose gate still stood open.

Atlan threw himself out of the hatch and raced over. Just before he reached that hangar the doors snapped shut, sealing with a clang. All down the corridor this happened, but he wasn’t deterred and had the key ready.   
The door sensor flashed yellow and then turned red with an emergency flash as the boy insisted, keeping the pulse key pressed to that lock sensor. If that key had override codes as it must have as a master key, the door would open!  
And it did, hissing aside with surprising speed. Atlan jumped in and threw himself down with a roll, coming up with Luccot ready to shoot. But the hangar was empty but for the small lifeboat it regularly held. 

Bitterly disappointed the young prince stared at the tiny craft and then whirled around, thinking to get out to the corridor once more and look for another hangar which might hold a bigger ship capable of hyper-flight.

But the banging of booted feet was too near already. Atlan had just time enough to change the dial on the Luccot and turn it into a deadly beamer once again, close the door and seal it with shots crisscrossing along the middle seam, making the security system react and close that door till it cooled down.

Something faintly banged against the door-a man must have kicked it, but a hangar gate was of the best Arkonath steel and would not have reacted to the banging of robotic legs. Robotic shots, of course, would have been another matter, given time, but the boy had not seen any robots upon this ship yet.  
No wonder, the really dangerous fighting robots were exclusively reserved for the use of the Services and the Fleet and even authorized governmental bodies only were cleared for the use of the smaller and less equipped guarding models with smaller firepower. Commercial liners had servo robots galore onboard, and guarding machines as well-but these could but guard and had programs that allowed no aggressive fighting. Those programs were closely vetted and controlled by the Services. Circumventing the restrictive uses and laws was considered treason and merited very hard punishment, many years upon a penal planet or death. 

Turning again the young prince looked at the small lifeboat and swallowed, hard. He was stuck with it and would have to make do with it, no matter that the thing was usable only in-system and had no ability to run swifter than with sub-light speed, alas.   
He would have to see where he was, which planets or moons might give him shelter, where he might land. At least the thing would be swift enough to run from the ship of his captors-life-boats had to escape burning ships and explosions or enemies coming near, and this one would have such engines as well. At least that. Escaping to a planet, which he might have a good chance to do, he could call for help and call government and police, perhaps even the Services. Then he was saved, and the terrorists would have to flee.  
But he had to hurry to get off. They could gas the hangar just as easily as they had gassed the corridor, and this time he would not hear the hiss of the valves. The hangar ceiling was too high for that; at least he would have a few khelas till the gas could fill the hangar far enough to reach him. He had to override the gate lock first.

That too was something he knew by heart and had had to practice in a Room, the training units and rooms used by both the Services and the Fleet, setting up training courses and missions and situations for one or several trainees.  
One had to get through the Room, getting one’s task done; in the last year the young Crystal prince had had to do a Room three times a Berlon in training. That in this he got genuine Service training, and not even of the Tu-ra-cel but of the Golamo, the best of the best, he was aware of, but as high were the expectations his trainers had of him. 

“You have to do not only well but perfectly, hertaso”, admiral Kenos sternly had said to him when he had come out, bruised and smudged and with a few points off full score for not being alert enough and being too slow at one point-minor mistakes, as the Golamo trainer had said, but which had not impressed Kenos-or Kehene, at that, who patiently had explained again the fine points of the why, how and where and mercilessly had sent his groaning trainee back into the course, altered to make it unpredictable but not made simpler even to allow for Atlan’s bashed shoulder or the scratches upon his hands. Knowing that the training would get worse if he had to do it a third time, and knowing too well that he would be sent in the fourth time and if he could but crawl, the young Crystal Prince had clenched his teeth, concentrated deep down and had run the Room slicing through and around the obstacles, managing to ignore klaxon, tilting floor and gravity going and returning better this time, getting the door open and making it stay open against an obstinate positronicon’s will swifter now.

He had made it with one point off full score, but seeing it was the second time and taking in the more bruised state of his pupil-his hertaso- Sek-athor Kehene had relented for that day and had grudgingly allowed his pupil to limp off and take a shower, promising another Room to come the day after tomorrow out of turn, offering the opportunity for his pupil to improve upon concentration and alert perception and speed.  
Atlan had set his teeth, had stood to attention and acknowledged with that snap in the voice any orbton expected of a trainee not acting slovenly or saucy, and had been handed over to a flustered Lesena who had fussed so much over him that he secretly had wished himself back into hard and merciless Dagor teacher’s hands.

Gods, despite that mental shield-how he missed her, and how he missed Sek-athor Kehene and Mascant Kenos and how he missed Kelta who would calmly and coolly and efficiently have told him what to do, going through training plans with him and pointing out the catches and the tricks he did not find and notice on his own after the third go-through.

Kelta, please, please help me-but Kelta was dead, his body left lying in a pool of blood.

Involuntarily the boy’s hand went to his sleeve where the light red of the jacket had acquired a darker and by now brownish hue. This was where Kelta’s blood had drenched the fabric when he had fallen over his corpse-

Only one dry sob escaped his throat as his fingers clenched around that sleeve while in his mind Atlan desperately held on to the goth shield and the image of the Crystal, and tried to remember resolve and calm serenity. 

Kelta-Kelta would tell him to get on with his task, the timer was running and he already had lost too much time day-dreaming. He might just have time enough to disable the lock and get into the lifeboat before the surely immediately employed gas reached his lungs.

Taking a deep breath and concentrating deep down he got into inner balance again and ran over to the lock panel, easily accessible and marked well as the pri-one item it was in the hangar’s wall, and unlocked access with the master key once more.   
Tapping in the general override code he knew from the Services, of middling security level most often used by the higher Celista charges, he hoped to be able to individually unlock the hangar gate.

But the blinking signal did not switch to violet, but kept to yellow obstinately, the master key proving as useless. 

Upon the door to the corridor an odd stain appeared, dark bluish at first and becoming more reddish as the boy looked, wondering. He was beginning to feel oddly hot-  
Gods! Gods, the terrorists must be about to melt a hole into that door! No wonder the temperature was rising like mad-Gods, he had to get out of here! That hangar was too small to let the heated air expand harmlessly! 

An odd stink was also in the air, something sweet getting burned –Gods, that was the gas getting burned by the heat! He had known they would gas the hangar! Gods!  
He had to hurry, to hurry! He had to get out of here on the double!

Recklessly now the boy tapped in the highest code short of High Command Override-and succeeded. That one was basic to any system set up with Arkonath structures, and it broke the lock like a laser beam slicing through butter.  
Atlan even had to grin for a moment, his elder cousin Charkor coming to his mind who had, at a family breakfast at the Gonozal Khasurn, declaimed that quote for the delight of the young Crystal Prince and had followed it with a physical demonstration which had stuck to everyone’s mind.

“Butter, meet laser beam. Laser beam, meet Butter-ooops.”

The lock signal stayed violet. Holding his breath Atlan ran over to the lifeboat and got in, not even needing the pulse key which he tucked away safely back into his pocket.

The lock sealed behind him. This was a boat meant for no more than ten persons, belting down in as many seats, two of them beneath the transparent canopy of the pilot cabin where the young prince hurried to take his place.  
Upon him powering up and giving the take-off request and signal to the lock sensors the hangar gate slowly opened, making the air in it puff away within a mithron. The spot upon the inner door, which had become light red, darkened to dark blue immediately again, being cooled by the absolute zero temperature of deep space.

Recklessly Atlan fired the engines, knowing he was risking that hangar’s safety and inviolability without the power grids provided by main control. But he could not care less for the safety of people like those murderers.

The lifeboat shot out of the hangar and veered to aft immediately, racing an erratic course which was hard to follow and which automatic target sighters would not necessarily have programmed in. He was sure they would not shoot to kill, they would destroy their hostage else and ruin their whole gambit!  
Turning the lifeboat’s nose from the ship he accelerated as hard as he could, standing the three gravos that got through the ship’s thomkay tar for the few moments they pressed him into the seat.

The lifeboat shot out of the larger ship’s shadow, and Atlan saw-  
The planet. Inviting and blue-green-yellowish it turned in space to the left of the ships, frequent traffic beneath the cloud cover and above it proving it to be well inhabited and well colonized.

There were rescue and safety, just as he had hoped in his best fantasies! Gods, Thanked be Qinshora, Goddess of Love and Benevolence! He was saved, he could call for help and would be protected and brought back to Arkon, the nightmare was over for him!

Atlan was shouting with relief and momentary joy, the release from constant fear and danger dampened a moment later by bitter sorrow and the knowledge that whatever could be done now by his family to cuddle him and make him feel at ease again, it would not make him forget Lesena and Kelta, Taneth or Alos, nor would any death sentence given to the terrorists at Celkar, the planet of justice, bring any of them back to life. Lesena and her daughter were gone forever and had left a hole in his life he never could fill again with anyone else’s presence.

Behind him the ship of the murderers accelerated as well, following him, spewing several small craft from its hangars. 

Small fighter ships like these might bring him back in with tractor beams employed where a beamer gun would have killed him, granted. But already he was far out on his way, accelerating mercilessly and standing the brutal gravity with clenched teeth. He was no delicate Courtier mekhan, thinking a rip in her dress a catastrophe which might stick to her mind to her dying day. He was a trained Dagor hertaso who was well on his way to becoming a Laktrote in time-years for that way to be walked, but nevertheless, he was a raw recruit or beginner no longer, had not been that when he had been eight and had gone to Hocatarr.

Radio signals beeped in the receiver, being translated to voices and running script on the reader panel. The fighter pilots got instructions and told each other what to do. He would be hard to catch for them, oh yes. He was well on his way, and he would not be caught again! Down there government and police would help him, and-

The assassins’ ship was calling the planet directly and was receiving an answer. Disbelieving Atlan stared at the reader panel, unable to grasp at first what he was getting told by the data. The captain of his captors was having coded and re-coded radio traffic with a source down there upon that world, and the magnitude of the planetary signals said unmistakeably that whoever was answering that ship was in possession of a huge and therefore official and governmental radio plant, and that he had neither reason nor necessity to hide. 

This was an official channel kept free of any other signal! Gods, Zelathrol have mercy, it was his enemies who were in charge down there, and who apparently had full control over official institutions which must include the government and the police-

The young prince felt as if the air in the small lifeboat suddenly had become short. Gasping with shock and being plunged into nameless terror despite that crystal shield in his mind he stared at the screen. There was no other planet near enough to him to redirect his flight to, with the fighter ships and the assassins’ ship that close upon his tail. Come what might he had to plunge down into these clouds which covered the allies of his enemies, risking falling into their hands, people who would most likely just hand him back to Lesena’s murderers-

Moaning Atlan hid his face in his hands. He was not saved, no, far from it. He had just run from one trap into another, from one Yilld’s lair towards the other one. Arkon and father, mother and uncle Cunor were as far away as before, no, farther away, because hope was dashed so bitterly.

Tears streamed down his face as the young Crystal prince tried to think of a way out. He had to get reason back and lock his emotions away again, he had to- but it was hard, surprisingly hard to deal with this new shock and sudden hope and certainty of safety smashed again, no matter he could retreat under the mental shield which he still could call upon within his imagination. He was near to collapse, he knew it, felt it with the tremor in his muscles, with his breath coming in short gasps with shock. But he had to lock his emotions away-for now, he had to, he simply had to! Thinking reasonably was his only chance now. He had to.

And the crystal shield reappeared, calmness, however tremulous, reappeared too, thanks be to Thiath, to the Creator Himself, to the Highest of whom all the gods were but manifested aspects. With concentrating upon Thiath and the Crystal serenity came back-only a little, but it sufficed to let Atlan draw breath again and let him think, let him consciously concentrate upon the crystal spheres in his stomach and his heart and his throat taking the emotions in which he could not afford to have right now, locking those feelings away, keeping his head clear.

He had to look for a way out, an escape route he could take still!

But there was none. He could give up now, letting himself be caught meekly and towed back to the ship of his captors, or he could risk the plunge and race his pursuers to the radio horizon of this planet, disappearing beneath the bilge, so to say. He could plummet swifter than could the fighters and might get below radar horizon too swiftly to be located without question by that local traitor government. He might hide upon that world, becoming an unknown boy among many in the capital of this planet where the greatest radio plant must stand, the radio plant which could reach Arkon itself with a call, or at least by relays.

He would have to creep in and send that distress call himself, and hide among the people, doing what Sek-athor Kehene and Kelta had taught him among many other things in the course of the regular Golamo training program, disguise himself and impersonate someone else as thousands of Celistas of the Tu-ra-cel did every day everywhere throughout the Imperium. He would have to don a Mask-Gods, the further purposes of the game his trainers had played with him, “Who am I? What am I? Where do I stand?” came clear to him in another rush of mixed emotions. He felt annoyance at realizing that he had been kind of had, gratefulness at seeing that he was better equipped to deal with these matters he was confronted with now than he had thought, and satisfaction with the abilities he knew himself to have. All along he had thought that that game, growing ever more sophisticated over the years, had been meant to teach him to see through other people’s pretenses and disguises, had been meant to enable him to read the people he was dealing with the better, teaching him psychology and the behaviour of people. Now he realized that he could play the role of another person quite well enough to mislead his enemies and give them a run-around, slipping by and escaping them as swiftly as he could.

New hope strengthened the young prince’s resolve to face the dangerous plunge. He had kept to mercilessly accelerating all the while, standing the heightened gravity pressing him into his seat. Now he would get more of that and it's sudden opposite when he went head over heels or rather, nose over tail down into the atmosphere of this unknown world, which was coming dangerously near to the small lifeboat. 

Of course he never had done anything like this real-time and under true conditions, but luckily he knew exactly what to do, Atlan reassured himself, thinking of the visit of his cousin Charkor tec’ Gonozal less than four Votani ago. Charkor was older and already an orbton of the Fleet, a cadet in training at Iprasa Fleet Galactonautic Academy and full of real training stories his younger Gos athor cousin was avid to hear from him whenever he visited.

This time Charkor had smuggled in a real Fleet training program for fighter pilots past his great-uncle’s nose and had slipped it into the simulator, to the greatest delight of the Gos athor and his friends who did nothing but play fighter pilot for days after this.

But Atlan had gotten a few real training courses that day and the two next ones and had been able to experience true dives and rolls, insystem and in deep space, and even one taking place within an atmosphere which was not anything the training he got himself, officially, had touched yet-not in a fighter machine, and not under emergency conditions. Of course Charkor had shown him the more exciting sequences.

So he had a good idea now what he was to face, and what he was to do-not that there wasn’t anything in this which the small positronicon of a lifeboat couldn’t handle, but he had to override security sequences and the normal program of the lifeboat’s ‘tronic to make it do what he needed it to do. A lifeboat was meant to protect the lives and the safety of its passengers, not to risk them. That, too, he could handle with the codes he had memorized.

Fear, which was starting to cramp his gut again, the young prince dispelled to the crystal sphere in his stomach immediately and concentrated upon being calm and feeling sure of himself.

And then, without giving himself further time to think and perhaps become insecure again, he pushed the steering stick forward, making the boat tilt and then roll over its right side straight downward, on an almost vertical approach to the planet below whose atmosphere it would hit at almost right angles.

The fighter ships, following, tried to match that course, though they thought their escapee to be mad, clearly. The messages racing back and forth between them told him so, in no uncertain expressions, Atlan heard.

He grinned coldly when the squadron leader hailed him personally on an un-coded frequency and warned him that he was committing suicide. Did he truly want to die, here and now?

The young Crystal Prince did not deign to answer. By now the positronicon had its warning beeper going and was prepared to abort the maneuver, programmed to expect the boat’s passengers to be incapacitated.

Atlan gave the override code and continued with the dive, plummeting to his expected death-as strong as a lifeboat’s screens were, they could not take the impact of the ship at such an angle and at such a speed.

The fighter ships were left behind, and he should have been too swift breaking through the high locating horizon for the locals, his enemies, to get him on their screens all clearly.

Now!

Taking a deep breath the boy started the roll he had practiced with Charkor, taking speed and vector off the small boat, doing a full roll and another and a third, going tail-over nose and standing hard gravity and almost none with clenched teeth and shallow breathing. He was prepared for it, as he was for the final hit of gravity when he evened out the dive the moment the sensor alert began to ping, announcing the first layer of gas, of the planet’s atmosphere, to be coming up.

Still at a very dangerous and steep angle, with shields flaming but intact, the lifeboat screamed into the atmosphere to the well-received oaths and curses of the fighter pilots who could not match that maneuver so swiftly.  
There had been quite admiring invectives among that barrage too-for a moment Atlan grinned coldly once more.  
Let those terrorists see that the Crystal Prince of Arkon was not an easy opponent to catch, not even when he was still a minor and severely under-age compared to a fighter pilot!

Accelerating as hard as he could within an atmosphere and diving as swiftly as possible the boy went lower. Within the khela the pursuing fighter craft were beyond the horizon and below the planet’s curve. Now to the third phase of this escape. 

The lifeboat could be tracked by its energetic signature; lacking that it was no more than a rather small craft riding the air lanes of this planet, which were trafficked sufficiently to make the deception possible which he had in mind, and which he, illicitly knowing many absolutely secret reports of Golamo agents and of Celistas, knew to be effective.

So the Crystal Prince cut off all energy and let the lifeboat drift lower and sink only by aerodynamic means, which the boat, with rudders extended, was well enough equipped for. He was very low down and near to the surface now, within the lowest cloud cover, and still very fast compared to aircraft of the locals riding these heights. Now for making any tracker think the boat was one of theirs. For that automatic ID had to be faked-which could be done quite easily by manipulating the automatic answer to the queries, and knowing how, to generate a kind of mirror reaction of the receiver to the automatic tracker queries coming from traffic control. Whatever the system expected to meet on the position and lane it queried it would get, a simple affirmation of whatever was queried for. That worked only as long as there were but automatic systems involved and as long as no living being noticed that something was amiss and that some craft was reported to be upon two different positions. But till then he had to be down anyway and either must have been able to hide this lifeboat or would have to be far away from it. 

Done. Softly the beeper ticked away, answering traffic control system automatically when called. This worked-Gods, this worked!

Atlan allowed himself an exhilarated grin for a moment. It was a quite different matter to do things oneself that one had only read about in the reports of others! Gods, this felt like a true adventure, like one of these vid episodes about the brave Celista hunting traitors and fighting the Maahks, and finding unlikely allies! 

That series, running on Vid GosRan Prime was an absolute favourite of the children in the Gos Khasurn. The Gos athor alone among them had a good idea about what in this and that episode could be true and happen in a real Service mission too, and what could not, knowing some true reports of Servicemen and women, and their non-Arkonath colleagues. But he never had given a single hint that he knew, or what he knew-he had been aware of the risk of betraying himself and his illicit doings, and Kelta’s just as illicit collaboration.

Right. For now he was safe-as safe as a man riding a wild Kahtodo as long as it did not stop, knowing that moment would come soon. He had to get down in truth, and that fast.  
So, now for finding the best possible landing-place, where, perhaps, he could hide the boat and still was near enough to a location where he could reach civilization and would be able to hide among many beings, and was near to his goal, the governmental hyper-radio station.

For that only the capital of this planet could be considered. Right, where was the most populated area and the biggest city upon this world whose name he did not know, nor its location within the Tai Ark’Tussan?

Scan ran on undeterred and so did the radio, receiving a number of calls that truly proved that this world was well populated, a class B oxygen planet of middle temperature and gravity, cooler than Arkon was and with a gravity magnitude slightly below the one of the Crystal World. The language one heard from the speakers was classic Satron, with a peculiar tone to it and a few expressions the young prince had not heard before, but that was to be expected from a colonial world. Switching to receiving visual as well-as long as he kept to perfectly passively receiving there was no danger of him being detected by only that-he saw people of Arkonath type talking to each other, no physical peculiarities visible, which told him that this planet had not been colonized long enough to have developed a native phenotype. That had happened upon Zalit, for example-given that the planet would have the characteristics necessary to force the colonist’s genes to adapt, naturally or by world-wide programs. Which it might not have, just as likely as not.

So he would not stand out by biological kind or phenotype, which was much for starters. Yet he would be known to come from off-planet the moment he started talking, so coming down in the middle of nowhere, apart from the distance he would then have to cover to get to the capital, would make people notice him. Not good. He would have to land near to the biggest city then, and that would also be the one with the biggest spaceport where he could say he had just landed and come from whatever commercial liner had just registered in. He’d see about that later-when he had gotten down unharmed and had landed safely and undetected.

It was not hard to find that biggest city. The planet had three continents and a few smaller islands within a world-wide ocean, and the largest of the continents also was the one most densely populated. The unmistakeable capital lay south of its centre not far from the coast and boasted two spaceports, which made it quite unique upon that world. From incoming data Atlan gauged the capital’s name-Makarsa-and at long last caught the name of the planet as well: Tela-vhelor.

He never had heard of that planet before. The sector he was in he had identified by now by the star map the lifeboat carried, which was Trav’s Sector-in short, he could not be far off from Trantagossa, and the system’s prime planet, Enorkethron-or the huge fleet Mascant Sakál was commanding at Trantagossa base. Gods! If he managed to send a single call he might be saved! 

But to get to that he must land first, and get ahead of his pursuers, in fact, he would have to find and identify them in order to be able to avoid them too. The fighter ships had not entered the atmosphere, as far as the young prince knew, but had returned to the assassins’ ship, which had gone on towards the planet, intercepting its course.

He let the lifeboat sink down lower and desperately looked for another opportunity to get nearer to that capital of Makarsa. Down very low his approach would be tracked by sensors again; he had not much time left to decide on the course he should lay-

“Opportunities will present themselves.” Yes, Gods, Lakh’ Kehene, but where and when? That the second sentence of that dictum told him to recognize the opportunities and act accordingly was no help right now at all!

The automatic ID beeper, still mirroring queries, became almost frantic as a group of carrier craft on automatic swept by, showing the boy the exact air lane freight gliders on an in-ride towards the capital were using upon this world.  
That was the opportunity he had prayed for! Merakon and Qinshora be thanked! 

As swiftly as he could Atlan kicked in the power and ran alongside the last vessel, mirroring its ID and becoming a part of this group, smuggling the lifeboat into official Makarsa traffic control that way. The whole matter went on by ‘tronic talking to ‘tronic, most convenient because there was no Arkonath involved who would notice by eyesight that the last glider sent a double signal and that one of these had a different form.

Weight and mass, and energetic emission, of the small lifeboat were not so far off from the parameters of the freighter craft. What the small ship, designed for space, carried more on the side of steel and shields the freighters had loaded into their bays and needed to carry these loads in an atmosphere, hampered by gravity.

They flew ever nearer to the city of Makarsa. It was a typical colonial city, modern and sprawling, and apparently growing fast in all directions. There were almost no Arkonath architectonic structures visible; the boy saw only two or three cone-like calyx buildings of Arkonath type, echoing the shape of a lotus flower, called khasurn as a noble family's house and such a family were called too after it. In general there was only architecture built along with the demands of necessity and utility. On the Crystal World of Arkon One, very few cities existed, and people mainly lived in their calyxes distributed across the landscape. To see such structures like the ones here was quite exciting to the young Gos athor, and a thing he was not used to at all, and which felt alien to him.

The bunch of freighters passed the teeming city westward and headed for a suburban area dominated by large utilitarian complexes of buildings, factories, and storage halls, as they seemed to be.

When another three larger vessels came from the right Atlan veered off with them, passing that area, and went down even lower, heading for a little populated place with copses of trees and a lot of swelling hills covered by grass and other plants, and what seemed to be fields worked by machines. In between larger circular buildings stood, low and partly built into the landscape.

Gliding nearer to one of them, flying no higher now than five meters and almost exclusively using the antigrav thomkay drive the boy saw on the scanner screen that the thing was empty of any living person. The read-out defined the object as a power plant, run by a rivulet flowing underground, and serving the factory area beyond the hills, one of actually twenty plants strewn here among the hills.

Atlan set down the lifeboat in front of the gate of that building and sat there very still for a moment, staring out of the transparent canopy of the lifeboat. Now he had landed, now he was down-

Suddenly his hands began to tremble with the suppressed excitement and the emotions he had not allowed himself to feel. Not yet, he had no time yet to deal with himself and his feelings. He had to get this boat under cover to save it from being found too soon, from betraying him to whatever authorities there were upon this planet. That was the next step, and after that he could take a bit of rest and think further. But only then.

Luckily the gate of the power plant was large enough to let a vessel like a small lifeboat enter. The ship was no higher than four meters and no longer than fifteen, and the power plant must offer access to service machines even bigger, judging from that gate.  
The boy got out of his small ship and stopped for a moment after the hatch had opened, taking in a deep breath of nicely oxygenated air with a heady spicy smell to it. The board’s scanner had told him that he needed no suit, and neither would he have been able to don one-he had none with him. His own space suit still was on board the TONDON, if his abductors had not found and taken it with them.

The TONDON. Gods, no-not yet-not yet-

With a few shaking breaths Atlan managed once more to confine his emotions to the crystal spheres he imagined with all his will, holding on to the mental shield of Dagor Cai Goth as strongly as he could, conscious of the clarity in his mind which the crystals gave him. 

Grabbing the tool kit kept at the ready behind the hatch he descended the small ladder from the lock and ran over to that power plant’s gate. Of course the impulse key from the ship would not work here, but perhaps a few manipulations like the ones he had learned in the course of Running his Rooms would open this door.

The lock was fairly simple, not just electronic, but having a mechanic part as well, supposedly in case of a failure. Gods-such simplicity one would not meet upon the Crystal world!  
Yes, but here he was upon-Tela-vhelor. Tela-vhelor, what a name. That meant "Oily season"- who called a planet “Oily season”? Could have been miners, of course, or farmers who produced oil plants who had founded this colony. But, Gods, “oily season”?

With the use of a simple disintegrator cutter and a primitive mechanic pair of pincers, and a welding shot the door halves slid aside, revealing a large empty area obviously kept free for the use of service machines and some things to be stored in need. The loading areas were marked as they were marked all over the Empire in such a case, complete with a simple sign made of plastic attached to the wall behind telling everyone to mind the loader truck and the repairing crew and keep off the platform-whatever the platform was when it was put up, which it was not at the moment. At the back further doors, revealed by the light of the panels that had activated with the door opening, showed where the actual operating room for the power plant must be. A soft humming of machines working told the boy also that this plant did what it was meant to do; but no positronic voice asked his ID or his authorization from him as he advanced. Well, that would most likely happen if he entered those doors at the back, which he was not going to do. It seemed he had found his hiding place for the present!

For a moment Atlan felt his knees tremble, but he clenched his teeth and did not allow himself to succumb to his feelings, not yet. First the lifeboat had to be under cover.  
He turned and ran back to the small ship, clambering up the ladder and drawing it in with a touch to the sensor pad, and then threw himself into the pilot’s seat once more, not belting in though the blinking pad demanded it from him. 

Rules should go to Ereinnye, the young prince thought grimly, as he lifted the boat half a meter by antigrav and had it glide forward and settle into the power plant’s hall. The gate, of course, would not close automatically, he had to get out and do that by hand once more. 

Slowly, in the glaring light of the panels which detected movement and stayed on, he went back to the boat and got in once more, and as slowly sank down upon a seat in the passenger area. He was down, he was in a secure spot after this flight, he had escaped-and was caught in a cage just as well, surrounded and surely soon hunted by his enemies, by unknown enemies of the Tai Ark’ Tussan, only the cage was bigger than before, as big as a planet.

To get out of here and warn his uncle the Tai Moas da Arkon he would have to fight harder, and face more trouble than he had faced up to now. If more trouble was possibly imaginable-at the moment he could not think of what he might have to face, he did not have the experience yet.

Moaning softly Atlan let his head sink forward to hide his face in his hands. After the catastrophe upon the TONDON this was the first moment he was unobserved and out of immediate danger, out of the immediate grasp of his enemies. After Kelta’s and Lesena’s death-and the one of Denios da Pert and Khesal’s, and Alos’s and of the Silvers and Taneth’s and all the crew’s-this was the first moment he was in relative safety and could let go, could give vent to his feelings.

With this thought the young Crystal Prince felt the protective screen disintegrate and go, and he let it, made it vanish. He knew that one had to face the emotions one had suppressed during such a meditation and psychic exercise. As consciously he let the crystal spheres melt in his mind and felt how his hands began to tremble, then to shake. Holding on hard to the seat’s edge and involuntarily clenching his teeth in dread anticipation of the emotions he must feel now, he prepared himself for an onslaught of fear and pain.

But the weeping fit that immediately took hold of him Atlan was not prepared for. The sobs made his whole body shake, made him cringe in his seat and threw him to and fro with the twists they wrung out of him. He cried out with the pain of his heart that seemed to cut through him and wept like he never had wept before, not even on board the assassins’ ship yesterday. Gasping and crying out with weeping, sobbing desperately in between, he had no control over himself anymore and was just glad he could afford to make so much noise now and did not have to pay attention to anything else like flying this craft. 

Lesena, Lesena, Lesena-blood spattered the wall again, turned her body into tiny fragments that ran down the wall and the chairs and the table, took away from him the woman who had been his second mother, who had loved and protected him all his life, who had been there for him when his own mother could not-and Kelta, who patiently had taught him so much, loving him as much as would have an elder brother, he was sure of that even if Kelta, keeping to protocol and rules, had not shown that normally-Kelta had died trying to defend him, trying to stand between him and danger one last time, and had been cut up everywhere for that. Kelta had died horribly and must have felt those wounds as the vibro-knifes cut through his body-Gods, these beasts would pay for this, they would pay!

Crying out loud with his sobbing Atlan cringed in his seat, hugging himself, and gasped for air almost desperately in between. Death had come too suddenly and horribly to all his people of the TONDON, and he had been in shock, had, though what had happened had registered, not been able to realize what truly had happened, had not been able to accept the reality of these events. 

He did now. Now he realized full well that they truly were all dead, that he truly had lost Lesena and Kelta, that Denios da Pert, the Tai Kha’ Laktrote, had been strangled before his eyes. All of this was true, all of this was real.

Gods, how should he deal with this? This reality he was in, and was forced to accept as real, had nothing at all to do with what had been real to him and had been his world two pragos ago. Yet it was true-and he, being who he was, what he had become by these experiences, a different person than he had been those two pragos ago, was as real.  
Only dimly he had been aware of the change in himself, of the different angles of perspective and perception that he was dealing with now. There was so much he never had known, never had understood though he had perhaps heard about it, never had seen as part of his own world and existence. He did now and had become a different person-knowing so much more, and terrible things, dark things. How could he ever come back to the Gos Khasurn as if nothing had happened, go on from where he had been, and act as if he had not seen and learned so many things he never had known of in his guileless and blind childhood days?

Slowly Atlan tec’Gonozal raised his head and stared blankly at the steel of the wall opposite, above the passenger seats facing him. He knew darker and different things now and realized he would know many more facts of the kind before he ever got back to the Gos Khasurn and would see his uncle the Tai Moas again, and his mother, his father, uncle Upoc, aunt Merikana, and grandmother Seliya. What would he tell them then? Gods-oh, Gods-Thyri, his uncle’s Mayth’dol Fam, might understand him perhaps better than any Courtier mekhan.

She, too, had had to stand back and abstain from having children of her own, had to be content to be mistress and companion instead of wife, had to keep away from the Gos Khasurn, never to be officially at her man’s side. She, too, stood in the Shadow. Would she see the Shadow lying upon him when he came back? If anyone at Court and in the family, she would, having the eyes to see-Gods, he did now. He did now. Gods, Thyri, I am so sorry, you gave up your hope of having children for my sake-  
And for the sake of her love for his uncle the Tai Moas. She had tried to explain this to him once when he had asked her, brutally openly as he had not known better then yet. But he had understood only part of what she had said, part of what she had tried to convey, being as open and honest with him as he had been with her, asking.

For the sake of love Lesena had stayed with him and had accompanied him this last time-which had become her last journey indeed. For the sake of love to his beloved dead, then, and to his family at home, he would find the strength to face what came at him now.

Being able to take a first deep breath Atlan uncoiled a little and then more, getting back his breath and feeling a little better, a little more centered. He had to get through this, and he would. In his right mind, and following the rules he had been taught, he never would have taken the dive that had saved him today. He had in full conscience taken a very great risk, had even put his own life in jeopardy but he had succeeded, and the safety and security of the Gos Khasurn were far off indeed, here upon Tela-vhelor.

Sitting up straight the young Crystal Prince closed his eyes and consciously thought of Lesena once more, thanked her for the love she had given him all his life. Tears ran down his cheeks again, but they did not hurt as they had before.

Instead, he felt comfortably warm all of a sudden, the cold of pain and sorrow vanishing as if she had come to him and had taken him into her arms as she was wont to do when he was younger, murmuring “my sweet boy, my beloved boy”, into his ear.

“Kelta, you kept to your path of truth and duty, you held up honour to your last breath. Please, show me the way now that I must go”, Atlan softly said to the empty air, and it felt to him as if Kelta stood behind him as he had done all his life, protecting him and being there for him, laying his hand upon his protégé’s shoulder as he had done sometimes when they had been alone together, and he had really approved of something Atlan had done or said.

“You’ve done the right thing”, Kelta seemed to say into his ear, reassuring him that it had been right to flee and take risks, for he had a duty to his uncle and to the Tai Ark’Tussan as the Gos athor that he was. He had to do right and fight these traitors and succeed, warn Arkon of them and thwart their schemes-and Kelta, and Lesena, and Alos and Tunutér and the Crystal Master, and all the crew, would not have died in vain.

A soft smile appeared upon the young prince’s lips for a moment. Yes, they were all with him, at least in his memory and in his feelings and-his face became grim once more-in the blood they had splashed upon his clothes, blood that their murderers would pay for, in Famathra’s name!

But he had to think of what he had to do now, Atlan thought, taking another breath, consciously putting any thoughts of revenge aside. As he had reasoned before, he would have to don a Mask, and impersonate someone who could pass through the city of Makarsa unhindered. Who, and which circumstances would he lay around that person’s shoulders as its mantle?

The fact was, he had no ID and no money, none at all. Under such circumstances he normally would have approached police at the first moment possible and asked for their help. This he could not do here; the police, and any other official body or organization, the whole government, he had to deem being his enemies, as he knew from the calls the lifeboat’s radio had received. So what was left? He needed help, needed someone to give him an ID, which would then have to be a fake ID.

This meant, he would have to approach people who were on the side opposite of the law, criminals, men, and women belonging to outsider groups, the so-called outlaw rabble one heard mentioned on the vid and even in Service reports. Gods, again-he was the Crystal Prince of Arkon, he could not dabble in criminal doings or get into contact with people who acted against the law! 

Yet, his first duty was to escape and warn his uncle the Tai Moas, and he could not do this if he did not get upon the law’s opposite side too-at least here upon this planet of Tela-vhelor, of the “oily season”.

He had read many Service reports upon such dealings and matters, and had an idea what he had to do and where he could turn-in that regard the vid episodes about Rhegar da Khilmerol, the brave Tu-ra-cel agent, the heroic Celista, were quite near to the truth, he knew.

So, Atlan decided, he had to play the off-worlder who had to avoid the police and who was all alone and had no family or friends with him. An orphan, then, obviously-which boy his age would be alone and come from off-world?

A merchanter, perhaps, whose ship had been destroyed, his whole family killed with it and only he-saved by his mother in the last moment, pushed into the lifesaving buoy-had survived. That was near enough to the truth and could be told by him convincingly enough, because it was true in its own way. 

Slowly the boy turned his wrist, affirming his thoughts. So, yes. That merchanter ship could not have been an honest trader if he had to keep off the police. A free-lancer then, out of Lepso, that famous and as well infamous free-trading world of shady dealings and shady contacts and contracts that shunned the light of the suns. To get a faked ID, and money, he would have to dismantle the lifeboat’s innards somewhat and sell a few of the more sophisticated and useful machines-at the port, where he had to find a fence man, a man who would take goods probably stolen and buy them without questions. 

With fence men and the clandestine trades, the Golamo agents had their hands full at times, according to their reports which Mekron kel’Dermitron had received. He should be able to find such a trader, the young prince thought, feeling confident enough.

And his name would be-here he had to swallow. Too well the warning Sek’athor Kehene had given sounded in his ears, concerning fake names. “Never take a name you cannot react to in your sleep!”

Great. He was not prepared for such a maneuver, how could he react in his sleep to any other name but his own? 

But no, there was one: his uncle’s the Imperator's name, Cunor, a name which moreover was very popular in the Tai Ark’Tussan right now and after whom milliards of boys must have been named.  
So, Cunor-and for the surname, he would take the one of a ship’s clan that really had been destroyed, though rather in an accident than by the hand of bitter enemies, Lant’cer. That had been in a report he had read clandestinely quite recently. Lirela, the songbird, had been the ship’s name, and Lirela would have to be the name of the ship he came from.  
Good, and now-

Suddenly Atlan felt how terribly tired he was.   
“Rest is a weapon!” The truth of this dictum of Kehene’s came home to the Crystal Prince with a vengeance now.   
With some effort the forced himself to eat a few bites-ration bars, there was nothing else-and drink a few sips of water from the containers stashed under the seats. Then, not taking the effort of extending the seats, he lay down upon them sideways and was asleep within the khela.


End file.
